We've made it through another one, although just barely. The days of my looking for a wild party and staying out all night and toasting too heartily are long gone. I'd rather stay home and put a fire in the fireplace and cuddle with Himself in front of the tree. We have to stay sober and sane because, of course, the boys have parties of their own to go to and we have to pick them up and bring them home. First Born is bringing back three of his friends to stay overnight after the festivities of First Night in Boston. Truth to tell, I'd rather have them safe here than out there on the road with those whose judgements I don't trust. I'll wake up to a mess and a mob in the den, but that's fine with me. Baby Boy is off to a party in town with his pals and will need transportation at about 1:00AM. At least the drive isn't long.

I don't really do "resolutions" any more. Figuring out how to do it better is something I try to start every day before I put my feet on the floor. Every day is New Year's around here. Having arrived at the age when I realize that we're not guaranteed another year, I try to take it day by day instead. My "to do" list is running on a loop, and every now and then I get to check one off. It's very exciting.

Little by little I find myself moving towards more prayer and fewer possessions. Which is probably a good direction to take with two outrageous tuitions to pay for the next three years. There are no complaints. I could be looking for money for funerals, or chemo therapy, or a million other things that people face every day. Two smart, healthy boys in college are a blessing, not a burden. Still, this just might be the year when I chip away enough at the collection of ...what IS that stuff anyway?...in my bedroom to the point where I can paint the walls, set up a reading corner and find a sanctuary in my home. It could happen. It's the age of miracles! Be safe out there tonight, everyone. There's a lot to do in 2013 and I wouldn't want you to miss a minute of it!

I am sitting in front of the Christmas tree and drinking my first coffee, two days after Christmas. To my surprise, I survived Christmas Eve with missing faces around my table, and a Christmas Day itself that was crammed with music from beginning to end. I sang at two Masses, and in the evening, when my husband and younger son gathered at Papa's to have "Christmas Dinner" (read: Chinese food) with grandparents and aunt and uncle and cousins, my older son and I went to a private party and performed with other carolers. My son played violin for two hours, mostly without a note in front of him, and I sang with the carolers who were assigned. Actually, I "crashed" because I had turned down the assignment. Who works on Christmas night? But since I was chauffeuring the violinist and had no desire to sit in a cold car in the dark for two hours, I arrived in costume. The father of the family had decided to surprise his family with the music. He had chosen a Dickens theme for the day, and we were greeted by Marley's ghost as we sat outside the house waiting for others to arrive. There was the Ghost of Christmas (Past and Present), Bob Cratchit, Mr. Fezziwig, and a host of others. I wanted to be adopted on the spot.

From Christmas Eve to the present moment, I am not sure a vegetable has passed my lips. Getting on the scale on Saturday morning is going to be interesting. I am so sick of chocolate, cookies, and squash pie that I find myself longing for salad with a cottage cheese chaser. The New Year's Resolutions may have to start early this year. I'm not sure I can continue on this eating orgy much longer.

It's wonderful having my college sons home. There are plates everywhere, and it really looks as though a tornado tore through the living room, but I don't care. Their heads are on their pillows (usually until at least noon) and I know they are there, at least for the next couple of weeks. Then it's back to school for them, back to the job search for me, and bracing ourselves for whatever 2013 holds, both good and bad. It's like trying to walk on the deck of a ship during a storm. You have to just "roll with it"!

Really? One more trip to the mall? Sigh. Oh well. I guess I get to sing "Silent Night" again. I'm done and nearly wrapped, but my older son, who was up at 3:30 watching a movie on his computer, has one more to present to buy. He won't be happy when I wake him up at 8, but that was a compromise. I'd rather be at the mall at 7.

This is one of those years when family tradition changes. There are missing faces and extenuating circumstances, so one needs to "reassemble the troops" to get through. The year my husband's aunt died I volunteered to cook Thanksgiving dinner "just this once". That was in 1996, and you know, I'm sure, that it's been at my house ever since. Christmas Eve has always been family open house on my side of the family. We used to assemble at my parents'. When my Dad died we moved it to my house since I had two little ones. At least I've learned not to volunteer to sing at the Midnight Mass. That makes Santa cranky because he can't come to my house until Himself and I (and our vampire children) are asleep. Tonight my sisters and their husbands will come. I may see my niece. My nephew is going to be at his new in-laws'. Himself will be at his parents' house, since otherwise his Dad will be alone all day with his wife, who wanders endlessly while she is awake, and rarely speaks. My guess is one of my sons will go with him to spread a little Christmas cheer over there. Usually my in-laws come for breakfast on Christmas morning (the only time of the year I buy bacon) and go with us to church. Then they head for my sister-in-law's house for a proper Christmas dinner, because this side of the family is prone to Chinese food and sitting around playing with toys all day. This year we will all assemble at Himself's parents' house on Christmas Day, and we'll import the food, although whether Chinese or Indian remains to be determined.

It's important to be able to adapt, because no matter how much we fight it, life changes. It always will. Deciding "It has to be this way because it's ALWAYS been this way!" is a sure recipe for broken hearts and disaster. I've adopted a, "Well, it WAS that, so now it's THIS I guess" sort of attitude, which is much easier on the nerves. I've even agreed to drive my elder son to a "gig" on Christmas night. He'll play his violin at a private party for two hours while I sit in the car with a book light. Or maybe the host will invite me into the party, too. You never know, because it's something new... Merry Christmas!

I was at the mall at 7 o'clock this morning. I was there yesterday, too. It's an interesting place that early. Did you know that the Salvation Army is not allowed to sing carols in the mall? So, of course, I asked the bell ringer what her favorite Christmas song was and I belted out "O, Holy Night" at the top of my lungs and people stopped and clapped and put money in the kettle. The acoustics were even better this morning. I'm going to miss this part of Christmas shopping, although I suspect Mall Security won't miss me.

The boys are tucked in their beds, thank you, Lord! A two and a half hour delay getting out of Ohio did not keep my baby boy from getting home from college and I don't care what (if anything) Santa brings me now. My Christmas is complete. There are a million things I should be doing right this minute, but I decided to take a minute in front of the tree and just "be". Writing the Christmas cards was more traumatic than I thought it would be. There were a few names I passed over because they had passed on. An ever-present ache accompanies the thought of Mom, Flanagan, and a few other friends. The murder of 26 angels in Connecticut makes it difficult to deck the halls with complete abandon this year, too. Still, I will celebrate that Love chose to come to earth, and the longer I live the more that means to me.

Practice defiant joy today. If you're still shopping, rejoice in the number of people in your life that deserve a present, instead of griping about the lines at the mall. Start a caroling session as you stand in line. Wear a Santa hat. Wish everyone a Merry Christmas, whether they look merry or not. Especially if they're a "not". Buy a stranger a cup of coffee. SEE the person behind the cash register and realize what a tough day they're having. Smile. And for the love of the God who loves us, focus on the purpose of Christmas and not the "day after" sales! Peace! If you can't find it around you, bring it with you. :)

The Christmas cards are in the mail. Having forgotten to take the annual picture with Santa hats when they were both home for Thanksgiving and my mother's funeral, we succumbed to two old photos of the boys, one on the campus of the older son, the other picture at the ages of 2 and 3 at a Christmas parade and looking adorable. Because they are photo cards, and because we are out of time, there are no personal greetings on any of them. We just shoved them in envelopes. I hope people understand that while I was addressing the envelopes they were on my mind and in my heart.

The tree is decorated, and I snipped the long, left-leaning branch that made the angel on top look tipsy. One more ornament and I swear it will hit the floor. Presents are another story. I have a long way to go on that one, but I'm not in a panic yet. During a let up in the rain yesterday I got my sad three strings of lights on the front porch and covered the entry with fake greens. A bow or two, and it will be done enough for my taste. It helps a lot to disdain Martha Stewart's standards.

Most importantly, we will pick up our older son at school tonight and bring him home tomorrow. He was up all night long writing one of three papers that he left until the absolute last minute. I would scold severely, but I have a vague memory of sitting at the kitchen table until six in the morning and then taking a shower before taking the subway to school. I guess he doesn't get it from the wind. Son Number Two arrives on a plane on Friday night and then I will be ready to really celebrate. This year Christmas is all about being together.

Today I start a temporary, seasonal job at the mall. For the first time in over thirteen years I'll have a boss! I've never worked retail before, and quite frankly I have always dreaded the thought of the mall in the weeks leading up to Christmas, but I must confess that I'm excited. It pays poorly (I make more in one hour singing than I do in three hours at the store) but it's a reason to get dressed and out of the house.

The tree is half-decorated, Son Number One's birthday is tomorrow and I haven't even mailed a card (well, we are picking him up on Wednesday, so it's not ALL that horrible), and the rest of the house looks as though a grenade has been lobbed through an open window. I'm good with that. I have barely started shopping and have zero ideas of what to buy. I have given no one a list of what I want because I don't want anything, and I'm picking up our Christmas cards today. But as they say in The Grinch, "It comes without wrapping, it comes without bows..."

Meanwhile, my heart is with every teacher, every school child who has to enter a classroom this morning, and who will probably never feel safe again. Ultimately none of us is ever really safe anyway, of course. It's an illusion. We are no more in danger today than we were on Thursday, but we've been robbed of our selective vision that makes the world "workable". Any day, any hour, could be our last, but if we dwell on that we will never experience joy while we're here. We will never get anything done, never move forward. So patch up the bubble of protection and get out there. But don't forget to pray for peace, to be thankful for today and for your children, and to let the people in Washington know that it's time for them to do something about guns. Now.

It's that time of year. I woke at 4, gave up on sleeping at 5, and had the lights on the tree by 6. There are so many things to do and no time to do them. After some discussion we finally bought a "real" tree again this year. I know it's a waste of money, but I hate the thought of caving and getting an artificial one. This is by far the shortest tree we have ever had. I actually put the angel on top by myself. Without a ladder. Or even a chair. It's short and a little wide and leans to the left a little, not unlike myself.

Christmas trees have a lot of symbolism for me. When I was fourteen, my older brother, just eight months back from Vietnam, died in a car accident at the age of twenty-two. That was in January. For the next couple of years there was no Christmas tree in my house. There were no carols, and for the first year there wasn't even television allowed for my thirteen-year-old brother and me. It was a house of mourning. My Christmas present when I was fifteen was a Boston Rocker, which I had requested. Many of my afternoons that first year were spent at the home of my eighth grade history teacher, Rosemary. She had a rocking chair at her kitchen table, and I often told her I "rocked myself sane" in that chair. So for Christmas that year I asked for a rocker of my own. Years later I rocked my babies to sleep in that chair, and now Rosemary's kitchen rocker sits in front of my fireplace, too.

A few year's after my brother's death, my niece arrived on the scene and re-invented joy. By the time she was walking we had a tree, but all our old ornaments had been given away, so at 17 I hand-stitched a dozen or so little cotton-ball stuffed circles out of red and green cloth, added a bow here and there, and started to re-build the collection. Those are the first ones that go on my tree today. During the years I lived alone I always had a Christmas tree. Often I would pick one so big that I had to borrow a neighbor's saw to make it fit. Some years I was the only one who saw the tree, but that didn't deter me. The ornament collection has grown over the years, and many of them are emotionally loaded, but that's OK, too.

With the heartbreak of Newtown, Connecticut, the loss of my mother and my friend Flanagan, and so much other suffering going on in the world, it is hard to get into the spirit of the season. But that is why it is so important to keep the flame of joy alive with strange traditions like bringing dead trees into the house, and draping twinkling lights that could turn a neighborhood street into a landing strip for lost planes. Defiant joy. With all the pain in the world, God chose to share our humanity. He understands pain. And in times like these, He is the only source of comfort.

Well, it turned out that the "Fun Run" was from the running store to the bar across the street after all. I came in first. Other strange holiday events this week include my mistaking the dark-haired angels with golden wings on my festive red socks for flying reindeer wearing yarmulkes. Without my glasses on those wings really looked like antlers. Then yesterday I decided to take the cumbersome duvet cover out of the laundry basket where it's been taking up residence for I won't tell you how long, iron it, and actually put it on the down comforter. Not so much for decor, you understand, as to claim an inch of space in the laundry basket. Suddenly the biblical passage about "wrestling with an angel" came to mind, except the language used in the adventure was not exactly celestial. It's a queen comforter, which doesn't feel that big when Himself rolls over in the middle of the night and captures three-quarters of it on his side of the bed. But when trying to tuck its four sneaky corners into what is essentially a giant pillowcase, the bloody thing is massive! After a half hour of struggling with it, cursing it, and twisting it into strange shapes (accidentally) I did the only sensible thing. I called my friend in Wales.

My friend is actually English, but lives in Wales, a country I LOVE, and has for over thirty years. They know how to deal with such things there. He also taught me how to make a mean risotto. Luckily he was home, and patiently, but with undisguised amusement, walked me through the whole process, which involves turning the cover inside out, then slowly unrolling it over the comforter, rather like putting on a stocking. It worked! And in my defense, he told me that the last time HE had had to put on a duvet cover, he had employed a word that is heard quite frequently in the States. It began with an "F", but it wasn't "fun".

Someone asked me how I'm going to "celebrate" 12/12/12. We're making up holidays, people, but what the heck. Tonight I am going for a "fun run" with the running club. It's actually more of a pub crawl, but there are sneakers (running shoes) involved, and elf costumes and Santa hats. It's very cold out there. The temptation to go straight to the final destination bar and order a Harpoon Winter Lager is intense, and I may well succumb. The chances of my feeling guilty about this decision are "slim" to "none", feeling no particular obligation either to the running club or to Weight Watchers. Nevertheless I shall happily celebrate the approaching end of this stinky year, and joyfully kick it to the curb. Assuming the Mayans are wrong, we will get another shot at it in a couple of weeks.

Next week the boys get home from school. At the moment, they are in the midst of final exams for the semester, and, like any good mother, I have shipped them large quantities of junk food I would never let them eat at home. There are cookies and candy canes, Hershey's Kisses and instant cocoa, mac and cheese, and whatever that stuff is that Chef Boyardee makes. It will get them through. There is also a cheap Santa hat and a note from Mom. Those are the most important items, of course. Because even though they both tower over me, which isn't hard to do, they are still my babies.

For those of you who also forgot to look at the clock at 12:12:12PM on 12/12/12, don't feel bad. It looked remarkably like 12:22:17. You didn't miss much.

A construction truck lingers under my window, motor running and apparently going nowhere. Maybe he's keeping warm until it's his turn to do something. Maybe he's listening to the radio. Maybe he fell asleep. What he isn't doing is contributing to my Christmas spirit. The "ho, ho" factor is definitely missing here.

I have been caroling all week, and most of the bookings were fun. There was a retirement home with a lavish meal for the residents. There was a church group social, filled with friends of mine. Then yesterday there was the two hour booking, standing in one spot, in the Alzheimer's unit of a local facility. Three weeks after my mom's passing, it turned out to be a lot more difficult to keep my composure than I thought it would. I was fine until I saw the smiling old lady in the front row kissing and kissing and kissing the cheek of her middle aged son and telling him how much she loved him. I used to get a lot of that, and suddenly a void opened up in my universe and the jolt nearly knocked me over. Fa la la.

I've gotten as far as taking out the nativity set and dusting off the mantel. There are fake greens and twinkle lights entwined on the railing of the staircase. The incoming Christmas cards are still interspersed with sympathy cards, and the flowers and plants are still arriving. It's a very bi-polar season this year. Joy is a choice. Defiance is a necessity. I don't want to play. I don't want to get in the spirit. But I will, because joy in the face of adversity is the central message here, not commercialism. You either believe the Savior came to Earth and it's worth celebrating, or you don't. I do.

Author

The author, whose children have actually made it all the way through college (well, except for the one who is going for his PhD) is a lady of a "certain age" as the French say. She survived menopause and adolescence occurring in the same house at the same time and is now trying desperately to make it through the next four years with cheerfulness intact. Things don't look good.